


Atrocity

by Biodiversity (SoraSato)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M, Multi, Philosophy, Polyamory, Slice of Life, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoraSato/pseuds/Biodiversity
Summary: The path to the ultimate fight for life through the unique perspective of the young Cousland heiress raised by a Chasind teacher...There is a bit of everything in here, like in every life. Nature itself breathes through the actions of the young woman as she questions the values of men and the notion of duty. She possesses a power accessible to everyone and yet quite rare - the power of presence.A complicated triangle arises from her affections to both Alistair and Zevran, leading to feelings of insecurity and jealousy.This text was created back in 2010.P.S. I'm fine with all kinds of comments ;)If you want to take ideas or anything, please ask first!
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Kudos: 1





	Atrocity

It was a noisy morning in the Cousland castle; knights were gathering their squadrons and checking the ammunitions, mabaris barked covering the general tumult, the sacred chant mingled with cries in the courtyard and clanking of armor. The Cousland forces were getting ready for the march.

Fergus, the Cousland heir, was frantically searching the crowd.

“Gilmore, have you seen my sister? I’ve been searching for her all morning!” he accosted a red-head knight.

Ser Gilmore looked perplexed.

“Well… I guess lady Akasha is still in the woods…”

Fergus grew angry.

“Damn her! Damn her and that Osaado abomination! Now I’m to hunt her instead of preparing for the march! Get me my gear!”

And the young Cousland, accompanied by the faithful Ser Gilmore, hastily ventured into surrounding forest.

She opened her eyes and listened. The tension in the castle grew. As if the stronghold wanted to yell but could not. She had an increasingly bad feeling about the upcoming events. Her apprehension only multiplied at the sight of military forces swarming her home.

She turned her elegant elongated head with closely cropped hair to the sound of footsteps. Humans seldom can walk the earth without disturbing it.

In her loathing of human behavior, she often forgot that she was human herself, and therefore possessed all her race’s traits.

A man was approaching her tree-borne hideout. She assessed his light step, lustrous black hair and a mature face of a seasoned warrior, as well as his armor and weapons, and decided to let him pass. She had a feeling they would meet again.

A loud cry resounded in the vicinity.

“Akasha! Akasha! Show yourself!”

Her dear brother. She sighed and did not budge.

“Akasha, we need you at the castle! Dad needs you.”

The young woman stirred. After a short reflection she slid off the branch and let her relaxed body fall to the ground. Her feet and hands touched the fallen leaves with barely a whisper. She appeared before her brother as if from nowhere, which startled him a bit.

“Ah!... Your favorite Osaado’s tricks again!”

Akasha frowned and strolled before the two men towards the castle.

“Don’t speak of him in my presence.”

Fergus sighed.

“Ah, but of course.”

Ser Gilmore cast a questioning glance at his liege.

“Did I miss something?” he asked in a low voice, staring unwillingly at the woman’s rear.

Her brother looked uncomfortable.

“I don’t know what happened. One day he just left, she said she asked him to leave and has not spoken a word about him since… I will regret it till the day I die taking Osaado as her tutor. He screwed up her brains for good.”

The knight cautiously observed the young woman walking ahead of them.

“Are mages absolutely positive that she hasn’t developed any… abilities?”

Fergus shook his head.

“As positive as they ever can be. No demon, no spirit, no magical abilities. Oddly enough, they concur with her saying that any man can acquire her sensitivity. Which is almost scary. Abhorrent and unnatural are the mildest epithets our mother used when she learned… Sad business…”

They returned to the castle and gladly resumed their tasks.

Akasha went through the motions as if in a dream. It seemed to her that her heart bled when she spoke to her father and mother, and greeted the black-haired warrior, and pulled her dog out of the larder. The sense of foreboding made her virtually ill. She went to her room and threw up. It did not make her feel better.

She could not stay here, she could not! Run, run, run! Cried her body. You must stay, said her head. See it through. What a curse is to feel so much and not be able to tell anybody! They never believed her, and when she proved right, they grew apprehensive of her.

Akasha made the final attempt, knowing that it would fail.

She ran to her dad, but he was already deep in conversation with that icky Howe, devising hollow strategies.

She hurried to her mother.

“Mom, please, something is wrong! Some great calamity!”

But her mother was deep in her own world, as usual.

“Yes, my dear, I’m worried too. War is no picnic!”

Akasha sighed. Sometimes she envied Osaado’s freedom of behavior for he could easily hit his pupil’s head with a stick for lacking attention in important matters. Akasha wished she could smash her relatives’ heads just as easily.

“Mom! A disaster is coming!” she yelled at last.

Her mother blinked and sighed.

“And what would you have me do then? Go around screaming? Let’s go say goodbye to your brother.”

Akasha sank again into half-awaken state of nauseous unreality and obeyed her mother.

She awoke with a start to a sense of dread. Reality was here in abundance, and the dread was so real, the young woman could barely breathe. Hurriedly, she put on her thin leather catsuit and took her two gladia – leaf-shaped short swords –her brother’s birthday present.

Suddenly, the door opened, and the much-dreaded nightmare came true.

*

Duncan took her by the arm.

“How do you feel, my lady?”

Akasha breathed heavily after a five-hour march but still went on, like a clock-work dummy.

“How should I feel after abandoning my family and my vassals to be massacred by the traitor?!” she felt like she could kill this man with her bare hands. “You pity me but still you are ready to sacrifice me to the cause you believe is great. You steel yourself but are afraid of your own weakness. Life for you has no meaning or flavor outside your duty, or so you tell yourself. But you are still that frail boy whose dad drank and beat your mother; you still feel powerless…”

She stopped herself for she felt that she hurt him. It was a stupid thing to say to him. Back when she tried to convene to people around her what she saw and heard and felt, she used to read them like books, aloud, uncovering their fears and shame. It was a bad idea back then, it was no better now. Nobody wants to hear that he speaks loudly just because he is unsure of himself.

“I am sorry, Duncan. I use my training inappropriately. This is low.”

They walked for some time in silence.

At last Duncan cleared his throat and asked his new recruit:

“How did you know about my father?”

Akasha sighed.

“Technically, it’s easy. You just let your interest focus on somebody and let your attention go through this person, inside him and to his very core. And this person just starts to open up before you like… like cabbage, leaf by leaf. I saw you as a boy of seven staring wide-eyed at your dad… It must’ve been a strong feeling that imprinted itself in your body…”

Duncan looked at her incredulously.

“Most remarkable. What else did you see?”

Akasha shrugged.

“There is no linear timeline to these impressions; they come up by relevance to the situation. I can say that I know you very well, but I only got acquainted with those impressions that are relevant to me. In another person’s eyes you might be very different in every aspect. Thus, we can never truly know people.”

Duncan shook his head in amazement.

“What kind of training have you got?”

But Akasha instantly closed herself to the conversation.

“It is past. We must not waste breath on idle talk, Ostagar is still very far.”

*

“Korcari Wilds? Three vials of blood and the documents. Got it. Just do me a favor, don’t follow me.”

The young templar shook his head vigorously.

“Out of question. Only Grey Wardens can feel darkspawn. You’ll perish there in no time.”

The skin-head young woman with a hauntingly beautiful face in spite of traces of a broken nose flashed her clear gray eyes.

“I’ll perish there much sooner if I have at my side three morons to pay attention to.”

The young man snapped.

“Oh, fine! Just go and tell this to Duncan yourself!”

She smiled at him and went to his supervisor. Surprisingly, Duncan nodded to her and motioned the young Grey Warden to approach.

“You’ll separate at the gate. You, Jory and Daveth will go for blood, Akasha here goes for the documents. Return to the camp when you’re done, do not go looking for each other. Is that clear, Alistair?”

“Crystal.”

“No heroics.”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Good. You may go.”

She smelled the wind. The twisted creatures were to the south-west… as were the ruins. Interesting.

She moved silently through the marshes when she felt foreign attention aimed at her. The attention was too sharp to be that of an animal, but there were no people around.

Akasha smiled. This should be good.

And she headed to the ruins.

The first darkspawn she encountered did not catch sight of her so she could study them at her leisure.

She observed them for a long time. The sun made all its way to the horizon when she finally chose to move. She had no illusions as to the ruins – the place felt empty. However, she sensed that it would be better to check it out and set to pay a visit to the place.

The chest lay ruined and bare, but the source of interest she had felt earlier finally made itself clear. A young woman showed herself from the tall grass protruding from the rubble.

“What manner of beast are you?” she murmured in a melodious voice as she neared Akasha.

Akasha smiled.

“I wondered myself. Now I see. You possess power. Magic.”

The young woman laughed and clapped her hands in delight.

“Marvelous! And what are you?”

“My name’s Akasha. I’m here for the documents. Seen any?”

The young woman grinned, obviously amused by the conversation.

“I watched you and I knew you watched me. I find it curious.”

Akasha understood that the mage was to be humored with small talk.

“As did I.”

The young woman flashed her intelligent cat-like eyes.

“Not anymore?”

“Now I can see you and talk to you and thus am satiating my curiosity.”

The witch smiled.

“You can call me Morrigan… Akasha. Space. What else are you?”

“A human.”

“Oh, that so?”

“It’s dull, I know. What would interest you?”

Morrigan was positively delighted.

“The documents were taken.”

Akasha cocked her head.

“And you know by whom?”

“Come.”

“I should’ve insisted on taking her with us! I should’ve looked out for her! Oh Maker!”

Duncan felt rather nervous himself but did not dare to show it.

“Calm down, Alistair. All the same, we will not go looking for a recruit in the dead of night! Go to sleep; we’ll decide what to do first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Decide what? How to bury me?” they heard an ironic voice from the darkness surrounding the bonfire.

Akasha approached the fire with a deadpan face, hiding an ironic grin in the corners of her full lips.

The men sighed in relief.

Alistair inhaled and exclaimed:

“Do you have any idea of the trouble you’ve caused us? We thought you were dead for sure!”

Akasha shrugged.

“Hush, puppy. Your master is not upset, he is relieved. So should be you.”

“W…what?! Duncan is not my…”

The noble blood in Akasha made her arrogant more often than not. She motioned the young man to stop and uttered in a haughty tone:

“Spare me.” She produced papers from inside her suit and gave them to Duncan.

The Grey Warden was only too happy to switch the subject.

“Ah, the treaties! Excellent! Now we can proceed with the ritual.”

*

She opened her eyes.

The disturbing visions still jumped before her sight.

She cast a glance at the two Grey Wardens, at the two corpses nearby, at pools of blood and the chalice lying about.

“Ignorant fools,” she muttered under her breath and faced the men grimly. “What do you need me for in such a barbaric manner?” she asked in a restrained no-nonsense voice.

Duncan sighed.

“When you return to your senses, please join us at king Cailan’s war council. We will talk through the strategy.”

Akasha shook her head.

“Not that. What’s the purpose of Grey Wardens? Tell me.”

Duncan hesitated as he met her piercing gaze.

“To kill the archdemon,” he answered cautiously.

“Any substantial body of men can do that. To sense darkspawn is largely useless, as any hunter has sufficient instincts for that. What is the real reason?”

Duncan sighed and lowered his eyes.

“To destroy the archdemon’s soul, a Grey Warden is needed, for he is not hollow, like darkspawn…”

Akasha scoffed.

“Instant wife’s tale. They are not hollow, not mindless, I watched them…”

Alistair could not contain himself.

“You did what?!”

The young woman glanced briefly at him then answered quietly in a very mild tone:

“I wanted to see for myself, so I went to study them in their natural state, when not fighting or chasing humans. They are noxious to their surroundings but so are humans… As far as I can tell of their visions, they crave one thing, a spark that connects us to the so-called Maker, their archdemon being the hungriest of them all… for he possessed this spark long ago… finding it in a Grey Warden satiates him…”

Akasha’s speech became less coherent as she dived into her new impressions. It was like straining to see something through a dense fog.

“…Why then the Warden dies…?”

Duncan stirred, clearly unsettled by the woman’s remark, but she carried on, absorbed in unraveling the mystery:

“Unless… yes! They leave the body, for both receive what they strived for… The human just showed the way…”

She fell silent for a long spell, deep in her inside world, searching for something.

Duncan, moved and somewhat agitated, nodded to Alistair to go and pensively left for the king’s council.

*

The noise of the battle became overwhelming. The sky was on fire, the earth boomed under tides of rage washing over it, the horror gripped at men’s hearts.

The young woman inhaled and took in everything: the howls, the pain, the spilled guts and smashed brains, but also the acrid wind, the distant mountains, the vibrating stones under her feet and the coolness of stars above.

“Let’s go,” she told her companion, unsheathing the twin blades.

They made it to the tower in no time, but there the bloody haze engulfed them avidly in its sickening grasp. The darkspawn seemed to come out of nowhere in huge numbers that threatened to induce sheer panic.

Fighting them, seconds stretched into hours, each blow or evasion taking enough time to think through one’s entire life.

Akasha started losing her sharpness for she never before participated in a full-scale battle, and when she saw Alistair’s shield getting in the way of a darkspawn’s blade that aimed at her, she knew she was failing.

“Ten minutes,” she yelled covering the enemy’s grunts and howls. “I need ten minutes.”

The young templar drew closer to her.

“Two. I can give you two.”

“Thanks!”

Akasha stood in the midst of battle, completely oblivious to it, shedding it off her back, listening to the sounds outside the tower, smelling the air. As she stood so, she vanished from the fighters’ sight as if she was never there.

Stars over the tower were covered by smoke and firelights, but nonetheless they remained in their places, cold, distant and so many in the bottomless vastness of the sky…

The woman returned just in time to drive her gladius into the side of a Hurlock that was attacking the mage.

“Upstairs!”

They ran to the topmost level of the tower only to see to their dismay a huge ogre making himself at home among soldier corpses and unidentifiable debris.

The woman frowned.

“Mage – blind it, you – cut its tendons,” she cried to her companions as she ran at an odd ragged pace to the brute, changing direction as she went. She managed to slip past it to its back, used its belt for support and drove both her blades into the monster’s carotid arteries. Then she yanked the swords out and sprinted away, careful not to get caught in the ogre’s agony.

It was over in a matter of seconds, and they all stood there dazed, breathing heavily and watching the monstrous mass give out its last twitches. It seemed one huge horrible dream.

At last, the hideous colossus stopped moving; but the men still remained motionless, unable to avert their eyes from the dead ogre.

A few moments later, the young templar stirred.

“The fire, we should light the fire!”

*

“One two three – left, one two three four – right, one two – more right, six seven… what is there...?”

She was lost in dreams and nightmares, always running and counting paces, and forgetting the count and groping to resume it.

She awoke to a nice smell of chicken soup and understood that she was hungry.

She heard a familiar mocking voice:

“Finally here. Do you often drive people nuts with this counting of yours?”

Akasha chuckled.

“On a regular basis, I assume…”

The soft colors of the growth and the sunlight dispersed by the marsh vapors gave a warm glow to the people’s skin.

Flemeth’s eyes flickered towards Akasha.

“Ah, there you are! Good. Are you ready?”

Akasha shook her head.

“No,” she said sincerely. “Too much cruelty. Carnage. Violence. Can’t bear it.”

Flemeth laughed.

“Oh, I should’ve taken _you_ as my daughter… Don’t go all sulky on me, Morrigan, Akasha is no mage. Sadly. Listen, Akasha, the only thing you should remember of the old Flemeth is this: there is nothing awful about this world. It is all but a dance. Accept it and make them dance to your tune. That’s all.”

Akasha thought about it for a moment then nodded. Then nodded again. And again. A slow smile crept onto her lips.

“Cadence,” she murmured, understanding something.

Alistair, who stood there teary-eyed, anxiously watched his companion until Akasha winked at him and said:

“Come, we have lots to do.”

*

They drew out their weapons. The bandits did the same.

Akasha grinned.

“Let’s dance.”

Her step became springy and light, she bounced past the bandit leader, softly humming a tune, plunged one of the leaf-blades just below his armpit, ducked under another thug’s maul and slashed his tendons behind the knee. Rolled, grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it into the eyes of the next assailant; left him to be dealt with by her companions and proceeded to the next one.

In under three minutes she was standing among a heap of bloody bodies, some dead, some dying.

She nodded with satisfaction and bowed to them with a theatrical flourish.

“Now, we can proceed to Lothering, these gentlemen would not object anymore,” she remarked as she stepped over their agonizing leader.

*

The Magi Tower was in disarray. Mildly speaking. The stench of decaying and burnt bodies was so thick that the companions could breathe only through wet cloths, and then it did not help much.

Akasha went sick a couple of times but still she moved forward, pushing through debris and cadavers.

When a horrid shade sprang up only a few feet from her, the woman was not impressed, for the stench was far worse to her than any nightmarish creature.

She studied the moves of the shade and danced along, darting and swaying, slashing and piercing.

When they finished the creature, she turned to the old mage that accompanied them:

“Wynne, this is horrible!”

Wynne nodded.

“Yes, my dear, they are fearsome creatures!”

Akasha shook her head and gestured towards scattered corpses.

“Not that. I mean this tower! Look at these bodies, they were practically children! Trapped in this monstrous stone tomb, with no grass, earth, fresh air or autumn leaves! This is just another way to kill them…”

Something in the eyes of Wynne suggested that the topic was very sensitive for her.

She sighed.

“Now, now, this is not so bad…”

Akasha refused to let it go.

“But it is! How can a child grow into a mentally and physically sane human being if he is denied proper conditions? If he is put in a stone box? This tragedy here is a direct result of this seclusion!”

Wynne pressed her lips tight and then sighed.

“My heart bleeds at each of your words. And yet I am in no power to change anything. So let’s return to the task at hand, dear.”

The demon’s stare was mesmerizing. Somehow, Akasha suddenly forgot where she was, or what she was. Everything was blurred and unclear. Only her emotions became ruling over her, deprived of her usual self-control. She experienced the terrible murder of her parents in detail of such gory intensity as if what she really felt was augmented ten times over. She observed curious shapes moving at the edges of her vision. Everything was whispering and moving, as if underwater, ceaselessly. She was very cold. She saw a shape of a man or a bear on hind legs and felt at once awkwardness, joy, shame, curiosity, anger, surprise, love, anguish, respect and yearning for something very thin, impalpable… she could not quite feel it so she kept searching, as it seemed to her very important.

Strangely enough, she saw Wynne, who said to her: “This is only a dream. We are in the Fade.”

Instantly, Akasha had a flash of clear thinking, and saw a cap of white light on the top of the mage’s head.

“Ah, of course! Finally the right direction. Thank you, Wynne…”

And the dream ended. Akasha observed her companions slaughtering the demon with such ardor that she shuddered. In the Fade, her companions looked gruesomely, like beings stitched up from mismatching pieces, sharp edges and claws protruding all over them.

She had no desire to help them, being only happy that the focus of their hate was not her. They seemed to be attacking their own fears, failing to understand that it was not the demon but themselves…

When everything ended, Akasha stayed silent for the whole duration of their hard journey through the tower…

She helped the Senior Enchanter rise.

Irving looked her in the eyes. His eyes reflected something like compassion… He said nothing but Akasha felt better for she saw that he understood her experience.

She never spoke of it to anyone, but oddly enough started seeing bits of Fade in the waking world.

*

As time passed, the two Grey Wardens came to acquire followers and support they would never dream of. Their goal of gathering an army to defeat the Blight suddenly started to seem not so unreal…

Morrigan, Sten and Akasha went scouting south into the wilds, Leliana, Shale and Wynne went to the Ostagar ruins in the hope of salvaging some ammunition, and Alistair went to Redcliffe to speak with arl Eamon.

They agreed on meeting at an abandoned house in the neck of the Brecilian forest.

The day approached its end when an indistinct noise started nearing the otherwise silent building.

Sten appeared from tall bushes of wild grass on the path to the yard, carrying in his arms Akasha, covered in blood and unconscious.

Morrigan rushed ahead of him into the house, opening doors as she went, and headed straight to the master bedroom with its stone bath basin.

Very quickly, she washed the bath and started a magical fire under it to warm it up.

“I have no idea if this will work!” she exclaimed nervously, emptying all bottles of health poultice that she could find in their backpacks into the basin.

“That’s what we did back in Qun, and it worked. No reason to stop working here,” said Sten in a business-like tone while stripping Akasha’s body of all armor and underclothes. The woman looked livid, and her stomach was a bloody mess of puncture wounds oozing life out of her with her every breath.

“Where is Wynne when one needs her!” exclaimed Morrigan in frustration as she poured the last of the vials into the bath.

Then she rushed into the kitchen where she quickly brewed more poultice and came back to the basin.

“Take a cup, I’ll fill it with the draft, the rest will go to the pool.”

She poured a measure of the brew into a cup and dumped the rest into the whitish liquid of the bath.

Sten studied the red protuberances on the white surface and said in a quiet voice:

“Red on white looks like milk and strawberries…”

Morrigan cast him a surprised glance and commented:

“Creepy poetry… Try to make her drink if only a few drops. I will make some more.”

And she left, shaking her head.

Sten did as he was told, but with little success – the liquid just dribbled down the woman’s cheeks and chin.

“Come on, you can do it,” he whispered as he persevered in making her drink the medicine.

A few minutes later he saw at last the swallowing reflex on her throat and allowed himself to sigh in relief, becoming aware that all this time he was holding his breath.

Another half-hour later the rest of the cup contents went down the right way, and Sten was about to go to Morrigan for more, when he felt a light squeeze of his hand.

“Kadan?” he scrutinized her face for any sign of awakening.

Her lashes trembled.

“Akasha? Can you hear me?” he whispered leaning to her closely.

For the next half-hour she regained and slipped out of consciousness, and Sten managed to make her drink another cup of healing poultice.

When at last she opened her eyes, they were dimmed by pain but nevertheless alive.

“Sten…” she whispered barely audibly, her mouth dry and bloody and her tongue unwieldy.

“Shhh, don’t speak, you must rest, kadan.”

“I…” she swallowed with much difficulty. “am… sorry…”

“Don’t be. Ogres are tough beasts.”

“Gladius… too short,” she persisted, as it was obviously the most important thing on her mind now. “I should’ve… taken a spear!”

And she fell silent having exhausted her forces.

Thus passed several hours. Occasionally, Morrigan came in to bring some fresh poultice and to check the intensity of heat under the basin.

In the dead of night both companions thought they would lose their Grey Warden, as her stomach started rejecting the poultice and each bout of bloody vomiting injured further her mangled flesh.

“I will turn into an old woman in a single night,” murmured Morrigan stepping away from the basin to give Sten some space to maneuver.

As the first timid rays of sun crept into the dark room, their patient calmed down and slipped into blissful oblivion.

Both companions exchanged tired glances.

“No vomit for the last forty minutes,” commented Morrigan, afraid to sound hopeful.

“No conscience either,” remarked Sten, checking pulse on Akasha’s neck.

They sighed, looking a bit lost.

“Now, you go to sleep,” said Sten. “I’ll remain here. Go.”

Morrigan was too tired to object and only mumbled:

“I’ll be next door. Call me in case…”

And left them alone in the small room.

Sten sighed and stretched. Then he took a blanket and put it beside the stone bath, crawled onto it and curled up. The instant he closed his eyes he slept.

The noon sunlight woke him up and he raised his head to check on Akasha.

He saw her blank stare and sprung up to check her vitals, but she blinked and he understood that she was alive.

“Ah! You are still here, kadan. How do you feel?”

She produced a weak smile with her scabbed dry lips and let out a sigh. Her voice was croaky and barely audible but the tone was almost playful.

“Like… an idiot… run over… by… a warhorse…”

Sten hummed.

“You joke in your usual manner. That’s a good sign.”

Akasha took a few sips of water that Sten held for her and licked her numb lips.

“I hate… that you… see me… like this…” she murmured, closing her eyes.

Sten did not waver.

“It’s good you pulled it through.”

Her chest heaved in silent laughter, and the milky fluid around her colored in red swirls. She winced and sighed.

Sten heard a door creaking and turned his head.

Morrigan peeked through a crack and, seeing that he saw her, slid in.

“How is she?” she whispered nearing the basin.

Akasha opened her eyes to look at the witch and smiled.

“Thank you… Morrigan…” she breathed, and the witch sighed in relief.

“You are alive!” Morrigan could not find words. She rubbed her head with her hands and could not stop sighing. Then she suddenly broke into run out of the room with an exclamation: “Broth!”

Sten and his patient heard some utensils clanking in the kitchen and smelled something burning.

After a while Morrigan reappeared bringing a bowl of steaming soup.

The day began anew.

Upon his returning from Redcliffe, when Alistair learned from Morrigan of the nearly fatal accident, he dropped his gear where he stood and rushed into the provisory infirmary.

There he saw tired Sten and a body floating in a milky fluid.

When the qunari saw Alistair, he stood up and left the room without uttering a word.

The young templar fell to his knees and ardently caught the injured woman’s hand.

“How this could happen?!” he mumbled in despair, his eyes hectic on her maimed body. “Oh no, Akasha, no!”

He was beside himself with grief, when the woman slowly opened her eyes.

“Please… calm down…” she uttered as his distress increased her physical discomfort tenfold.

He inhaled, pressed her hand to his lips and avidly looked into her weary eyes.

“Oh dear Maker! Don’t leave me please!” tears choked him until he could not hold them anymore, and he hid his face in his arms crying like a child.

When the first violent sobs subsided, he felt her hand caressing his head, and clutched at it again as if it were his last straw.

She was looking at him with a weak smile.

“I… am glad… to see you…” she whispered, touching his face.

She passed out for a moment but opened her eyes again to find Alistair’s face.

“You are… here… Hold me…”

Alistair became agitated again.

“But I _am_ holding you! Don’t you feel my hand?”

But Akasha repeated again:

“Hold me…”

“Morrigan!” yelled Alistair, panicking.

Both Morrigan and Sten came running. They checked their patient’s vitals and the temperature of the liquid, and gestured Alistair to step out of the room.

Morrigan sighed.

“For now, only this poultice soup is keeping her alive. Until Wynne returns that’s about as much as we can do – just keep her this side of the Veil.”

“She says ‘Hold me’ as if I wasn’t holding her hand!”

“Hmmm,” Sten mused. “Her own strength is sapped. She needs your strength.”

“What do you mean?” Alistair’s ears turned pink.

Morrigan’s eyes turned empty.

“Either she will start recovering or she will pass away peacefully. Both ways she asks you to be beside her – that’s good. Just remember, if she loses interest in you, she is a goner. Don’t let it happen.”

“And I will go fetch Wynne. The sooner I can bring her here the better,” declared Sten adjusting his faithful Asala.

Morrigan nodded approvingly and said:

“And I’ll go find some more ingredients for the poultice.”

They left Alistair alone in the corridor. He sighed and started undoing the straps on his bracers, when Morrigan poked her head from the yard.

“Wash yourself before you go – everything must be as clean as possible!”

“Got it!” nodded Alistair, sighing again. When he was left alone, he tousled his hair in dismay. He learned not to fear darkspawn, but the thought that he must go to his dying fellow Grey Warden made his guts twist into a knot. His whole body ached in anxiety.

He could not bear to see the last of his comrades die, much less this totally nuts and yet absolutely irresistible young woman. He never dared to gawk at her for too long much less hold her hand. And to think of her would be… suicidal.

It was early evening, when Akasha woke up to the feeling of a hot pool spreading around her feet.

She opened her eyes and saw Wynne pouring a bright white liquid into the bath.

The old woman smiled at her and whispered:

“Next time find less dangerous ways to seduce a man…” she nodded at Alistair, who sat beside the tub, letting her head rest on his arm and trying to not even breathe her way.

Akasha met his eyes and smiled at him.

Wynne chuckled contentedly:

“I’ll go prepare some more potent salve, while you, young man, have to carefully examine Akasha’s injuries to see how they heal.”

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Alistair, his ears starting to burn again.

When Wynne left, he looked at Akasha and found her staring at him blankly.

“I… I’m sorry, I’ll have to disturb you…” he mumbled, lifting her arm for a check.

But her arm took a life on its own and crept up his neck to hug him.

“I… want… to kiss… you…”

Alistair’s heart sank to his feet. At last, he managed to blubber:

“But your wounds...!”

“Please…”

The young templar broke in sweat.

“Oh Maker!”

He had a feeling he could burst into flames any second. He felt hot, found it difficult to breathe and could not swallow for his mouth went dry.

Akasha watched him trying to regain control of his own self. At last, he managed to fight back his panic, sighed nervously a couple of times and licked his lips.

His hands trembled when he touched her face. He started tentatively kissing her on the lips, but with each kiss he grew more fervent, afraid that she would fade away the next instant. Surprisingly enough, she answered his kisses with more ardor than one would suspect from a person on the verge of death.

She moaned softly, when their tongues met, and at first, he thought she might be in pain, but it was a moan of pleasure. He barely could hold back passion that overwhelmed him like a forest fire.

Finally, he had to jerk back in order to pull himself together.

Akasha looked at him with a smile, and this time her eyes seemed lucid.

“Sorry for using you as an anchor.”

Alistair licked his lips. He felt hot in the cheeks. Never would he dream of kissing her…

“If you want to… you may dispose of me as you see fit…”

Akasha did not respond. She just lay there with her eyes closed, irresponsive and careless; and yet there seemed more substance to her, she did not seem as frail as before.

Tentatively, Alistair started checking her vitals and examining her wounds. However weak the woman appeared, the healing of her injuries looked far more promising than he would have dared to imagine.

After finishing the examination, the man carefully slipped his arm under her neck again and held her tenderly in his embrace.

*

There was something off about this refugee that was begging, teary-eyed, to help her.

Alistair rushed ahead, following the refugee, but Akasha stayed behind, unsure of her feelings. And when she sensed a presence in the nearby bushes, she instinctively darted to the side. The next moment the spot where she had stood was ridden with arrows.

“Retreat!” she yelled but the clanking of swords indicated that the trap was already in motion.

“Bad cadence!” she murmured and for a split second stood there motionless, a perfect rendering of the first pas of the minuet. In this split second she took in the whole scenery with all adversaries and the relative positions of her companions, and traced her trajectory.

“Everybody dance now!” she said and flipped in the air to avoid another flurry of arrows.

Again, her ballet did not take long. First, she killed the archers, then went for the mage and deactivated the remaining adversaries.

“And bow!” she bowed as usual to the fallen enemies and went to make sure her companions were all right.

Alistair kicked one of the bandits to roll him over to his back.

“This one’s still alive.”

Akasha approached the body, driving out her blade.

“They are not common bandits. We’d better inquire who their target was.”

She examined the man before her. He was an elf of uncertain origin. His tattoos weren’t Dalish, nor those of the Denerim riffraff.

“Your shield did a thorough job on this one. He is stoned out of his wits.”

She stepped onto the man’s chest and paid him a few slaps in the face. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a sharp blade hovering over his throat. Then he saw as sharp and cold stare of a woman looming over him.

“Start talking,” she uttered curtly.

Sten pushed the prisoner into a rusty old cage they found in a burned down mansion, closed it behind him and sat in front of it, musing on something.

At last, he spoke.

“How odd it is to find myself on the other side of these bars.”

The prisoner shook the cage, but it held strong in spite of all the rust.

“What good it is to put me here, my friend? I would be marginally more useful outside, killing your enemies!”

The qunari did not answer. The door to the basement opened, and the same woman came in.

“We spared your life for now, but I’m yet to decide if we can trust you enough to let you follow us.”

The prisoner stirred.

“Oh, you, my lady! Why, I was under the impression that you trusted me enough when you spared my life!”

Akasha shrugged. Her stare could pierce a yard-thick wall.

“We’re yet to see. For now, you are ready to talk my ears off just to save your hide.”

“What’s so unusual about it?”

“Nothing. My guess is your training was rather severe, so torture will likely lead to more lies… Sten?”

The qunari giant hemmed.

“Agreed.”

“Then let’s go.”

They both made to leave when the prisoner cried:

“Hey, wait! Are you planning to leave me here?!”

Akasha turned to him one last time.

“That’s the plan,” and closed the door behind her.

A few days later, Akasha returned to the cellar.

The prisoner was sitting motionlessly in his cage. When he heard the door open, he stirred lightly. His eyes glistened.

“I was sure you would not abandon me here,” he said in a raucous voice.

“You read me right,” answered Akasha, put some bread and water in front of his cage and left.

A day later she came again.

The prisoner sighed.

“What good is it to hold me here?”

“None.”

She left again, leaving some food behind.

In a few days, she entered the cellar holding swords in both hands.

The prisoner sighed. This was it. He lowered his head saying nothing.

Akasha knocked the flat side of the blade against the cage bars to produce a quiet ring.

The man slowly raised his eyes to look at his jailor.

The woman sat in front of him, motionlessly watching him in the eyes for quite some time.

There was a moment of absolute clarity that passed between the two of them.

After that, she stood up and opened the cage. And left, leaving the door open.

*

Alistair and Akasha lay near the campfire, basking in its warmth after a hard day, her shaven head resting on his thigh. He stroked her gently.

“May I ask you something?” he whispered to her.

“If that’s about what you should wear to the Landsmeet, then no, you may not.”

Alistair chuckled.

“No, not that… however, come to think of it…”

“No-no-no, beat it, buster!”

“All right, mood spoiler. Actually, I have two questions. First one is why did you let this assassin go? Isn’t it dangerous? He might return…”

Akasha’s stare seemed to go inside her.

“No. When we let Sten out, it was riskier. And the second one?”

Alistair was obviously dissatisfied with the answer but chose not to elaborate.

“Uh, my second question is, why do you shave your head?”

“Oh, that! Pfew, I’m relieved. Well, I have a good head shape, and I’m proud to display it.”

“That’s it? There is no story behind it?”

She sighed and stretched.

“If you must know, at the age of 13…”

“Oh? Are you now older than that?”

“No, but the problem is **_you_** are less that that!”

“Ouch! Touché! So, at this wonderful age…”

“I had very long hair, down to my waist or so. And once, during training it got caught in a revolving mechanism that was supposed to spin a mace…”

“Uh-oh…”

“Actually, my vanity saved me, because if my hair was braided, you wouldn’t have made my charming acquaintance.”

“Dear Maker!”

“After that I cut it off for good. Not that my parents were happy… But my dad and bro could see the reason behind it, while my mom… oh, I’ll hear her screams until my deathbed! She was very afraid that nobody would marry such an un-girly girl like me…”

Alistair lowered to kiss her.

“Merciful Andraste, was she wrong….”

Akasha chuckled.

“Maybe not so much…”

Alistair kissed her again, then took her hand and whispered:

“If we had not to deal with the horde… I would be the happiest man to have you… as my wife… for my entire life…”

Akasha scoffed.

“Be careful what you wish for! It’s an awfully long time, you know… And you’ll have to become a king at some point…”

“So what, you are of noble birth, wouldn’t you accept to become my queen?”

Akasha rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair.

“Boy. Do you even know what husbands and wives do? You are talking of things you have no notion of.”

The young man looked flustered.

“So… It is a ‘no’…”

The young woman sighed and got up.

“It means we will speak about this later, under other circumstances. When my gentle-boy becomes a gentle-man.”

She kissed him on the mouth and felt him feeling vexed.

She remembered with a smile the advice of her father, when she could not get her little nephew to shut up.

“Do you know what enemies and babies have in common?” he asked. “You have to distract them.”

This golden rule worked for her ever since.

She smiled at flustered Alistair and kissed him again with all tenderness she could muster.

“You must be _the_ sweetest young man in Ferelden. I bet girls would gladly kill each other for your kiss…” she purred and kissed him again. “I’m so lucky…”

And they continued kissing, all tensions dissolved.

.

*

Somebody was present in the tunnel.

Akasha thoroughly studied the walls… the ceiling… the floor.

Swayed a few times, feeling her surroundings.

“What’s the tune, what’s the tune?” she whispered to herself, searching. “Majestic hall, beneath the gall… Waves of caves, swishing and coiling… Rage seeping from longing… Here I come!”

She unsheathed her gladia and moved forward keeping up with a strange cadence that resounded only in her head.

A giant spider leapt at her, but she knew it beforehand and met it with a flick of her blade, never losing her tempo; then she zoomed up, meeting another cave crawler, and flipped to avoid the third’s poisonous spit.

She went through the tunnel like a gust of wind, fast and smooth, flowing along the path with occasional swishes and flicks, leaving behind twitching hulls of spiders and crawlers bereft of their legs, heads and guts.

Oghren growled.

“You make me scavenge for enemies! This isn’t right!”

She turned.

“Next time, I’ll leave you your share.”

The Anvil of the Void stood there, a few paces away. The huge Caridin and the tiny Branka waited impatiently for what she had to say.

Akasha felt out of her depth here, with these two sides of the same coin. She sighed. And sat down on the ground. And closed her eyes.

The two contestants stirred anxiously, but Alistair motioned them to keep quiet.

Akasha listed to distant water dripping off stalagmites, her breathing became as measured and slow; she heard the grumbling of lava, and her thoughts became as thick and heavy as the molten earth itself; she took in the space of the hall, the golems, Branka, and the walls around her seemed to dissipate; she touched with her mind all dwarves, their past and future and let it all go.

She stared into the face of the void for long enough to stop tracking time at all and opened her eyes.

Then she drew out her blades and attacked Branka.

Oghren howled “Nooooo!” but too late – his wife’s head made an arc in the air to land at his feet.

However, as Caridin opened his mouth to thank Akasha, one of her blades went through his palate into his head and the other severed his head from his shoulders.

When she saw her companions gawking at her, speechless, she just said:

“I want some fresh air. Let’s go.”

Needless to say, dwarves proved to be tough cookies during negotiations; but in the end, with the aid of Wynne’s diplomatic skills they managed to secure the dwarven military support.

When they left Orzammar, Alistair finally let out his frustration.

“What were you thinking, killing not even one, but two Paragons at once! This is… Uh! I can’t even find the right word! Stupid? Idiotic? No, it doesn’t even begin to describe it! And to land Branka’s head to the feet of her husband! For Andraste’s sake! You’re totally messed up!”

Akasha waited for the stream of indignant outbreak to pass but when she detected that it began looping, she turned to her companion and said quietly:

“Alistair, you want to lead? Be my guest.”

*

It was a beautiful quiet evening in the clearing at the outskirts of the Brecilian forest.

A small river scuttled through a bed of rocks, birds chirped preparing for sleep, nothing disturbed the silence of leaves in the trees.

The camp site was well hidden behind a set of boulders, and the people settled down, getting ready for nightfall.

Akasha was washing herself in the stream when she felt a presence in the opposite direction to the camp.

However, the presence did not seem aggressive, and oddly enough it bore a familiar signature.

The woman sighed.

“If you want to have a better look at my boobs, you might as well come closer.”

The bushes rustled, and her former prisoner, the Antivan assassin, laughed and came forward.

Akasha did not even flinch. She asked him while unhurriedly rubbing her arm:

“Still verifying if you could have a good shot at killing me?”

The Antivan laughed.

“I admit, that idea crossed my mind. But no, I would not do it. I’m amazed at how you heard me – this stream is pretty loud!”

She shrugged.

“I do not have to strain my ears. I felt you, you were too obvious. You did not blend with the surroundings.”

“I beg your pardon?” the next instant he vanished and reappeared very close to her.

But Akasha already had a stiletto in her hand. She put it to his throat, lingering on the moment. She marveled at the contrast between hard smooth metal and supple warm skin, pulsating with life.

The Antivan smiled.

“Wonderful. Where did you hide it?”

Akasha grinned and looked the man in the eye.

“You’ll never know.”

The Antivan’s eyes flashed devilishly.

“Now that you challenge me, I will not rest until I find out.”

Akasha lowered her eyes. Her stiletto traveled the man’s torso along with her gaze. The Antivan’s chest heaved as he let out a loud exhale.

Akasha displayed a crooked grin.

“You are getting your boots wet.”

The Antivan sighed and made a helpless gesture, smiling.

“Ah, anything for the art… But while I’m here, maybe I could help you in some way? Scrub your back, maybe?”

The woman laughed, unperturbed.

“Boy, you are fast!”

The Antivan took the loofah from her hand.

“Zevran. Zev to my friends, in case you forgot.”

“Akasha. To both friends and foes.”

The Crow smiled.

“I like the way you think.”

She shrugged.

“You know nothing of it. Now, make yourself useful or get lost.”

“Ah, you are so stern.”

He stood in front of her and slowly passed the loofah on her back.

She did not shy away and stood there, watching his moves.

She could’ve asked him the purpose of his visit after she let him go anywhere he pleased but this question somehow lacked urgency at the moment.

Antivan’s eyes laughed as he looked her in the eyes, and she felt that he wanted to see her. He paid absolutely no attention to the weapon, focused only on the woman, observing her in such a way as if he could undress her even further.

“You are standing here completely naked and yet you are so shameless about it,” he mused aloud, tracing wavy patterns on her back.

Akasha shrugged.

“Shame is superficial. My dad always said: survival first, then everything else.”

The Crow smiled broadly.

“A wise man. Did he also say something quite as wise about sex?”

The woman smiled slyly, very aware of the pleasure she took in his presence.

“Oh, he did actually.”

The Antivan laughed.

“And what did he say?”

She shrugged.

“Something to the effect ‘Do not fuck with Antivan assassins after they try to kill you’.”

The Crow enjoyed this playful discussion more and more.

“Ha-ha-ha! I’m glad he did not tell you ‘Do not **_kiss_** with Antivan assassins’ or you might miss something quite unique.”

Akasha squinted.

“I’m not sure I like the word ‘unique’. It might mean ‘once in a lifetime’ or ‘in the last seconds of one’s life’,” she took the loofah from him and added, “and if you kiss like you wash my back, I lose nothing not knowing.”

“Oh, I’m deeply hurt, dear lady! Would you at least try before dismissing it so blatantly?”

Akasha wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t inclined to conduct such an experiment.

“Not today.”

The Antivan smiled.

“Ah, at least you do not reject the idea. Good. So what now? Shall you put me in a cage again?”

The woman transfixed him with her glittering eyes.

“Should I? You’ve got another contract on me?”

The Crow laughed and shook his head.

“I failed. They will find someone else.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To offer you once again my services. It seems that traveling with you is safer by far.”

Akasha shook her head.

“But the death rate at my side is also staggering.”

The Crow smiled self-confidently.

“I’ll take these odds.”

The woman stared him in the eyes for a long moment but the elf did not falter. He held her gaze quietly and calmly, letting her sink as deep inside as she could reach, staying completely open.

And Akasha understood why he came back. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to explain it himself, but his yearning was there. He was searching for the feeling of life, as grand, and acute and mind-shattering as he had experienced in the cage, on the verge of complete surrender… Observing death on a daily basis just spurred him more, for he knew the mechanics of the phenomenon but he could not grasp the essence of it. So, he returned, seeing in her the answer…

Since his preferred method of learning was through feeling…

She lowered her eyes and smiled.

“One chance to persuade me.”

The Antivan laughed and grabbed her into his arms.

“I need no more.”

His kiss, a little feverish at first, stretched into a symphony of tingling sensations and feelings that echoed all through the woman’s body. She felt both his joy and his rumbling stomach. He felt dizzy from hunger and yet he was there for her, making her feel so good that her muscles relaxed as if touched by a magical wand, her head light and limbs fluid. She felt that she could’ve had sex right here and right now…

But the Antivan stepped back from her and grinned:

“As promised, one kiss only.”

Akasha tried to come to her senses as if after a knockout and laughed:

“You bastard!”

The Crow grinned, well pleased with himself.

“That I am. As well as many other things. It’s up to you to choose, really.”

Akasha sighed and shook her head.

“You thought about your empty stomach when kissing me and not about pleasure. But you are highly technical, that’s a given. Go to Leliana, the red-haired girl, and ask her to feed you.”

The Crow could not hide his surprise.

“You have so… finely attuned senses…”

Akasha shrugged and sighed again.

“Everyone has a history.”

The Antivan looked at her quite differently, and uttered, leaving:

“I hope you’ll tell me someday…”

*

A cloud crawled like a monkey on tops of trees, permeating everything in a chilly mist.

It was colder than cold, for the thick damp cloud seeped through every crevice in clothing to get to tired travelers’ bones.

Alistair was glad he had a woolen cape around his shoulders, for however wet, wool was still warming him. The young templar wondered if it would be more sensible to just stop and wait for the cloud to pass, because there was nothing to be seen except for milky-white wisps a few paces away.

“Akasha,” he called into the whitish void, “Could we stop for a moment?”

The young woman’s silhouette promptly emerged from the fog. Soon, Sten and Morrigan appeared as well.

“Is everything all right?” was the first thing Akasha asked.

“Yes. I was just wondering if we should stop and wait for the cloud to pass. We can be easily lost in this soup.”

His fellow Grey Warden frowned.

She took her time to ponder over the suggestion, when an invisible raven suddenly croaked, perched on a branch somewhere far from any reach.

Akasha raised her head to find the bird and bit her lip.

“Are you watching over us? Or are you just a bird?”

She turned her head in different directions to get her bearings and said softly:

“Five minutes ago, we passed a horse skull facing the right direction, so we are definitely well on the track. But you are probably right; there is no reason to put all of us in danger in the fog. Let’s pick up some brushwood and wait for the cloud to pass. Comes morning, the wind will clear it away.”

Said and done, the companions gathered some wood and built a fire to provide them with a little warmth and comfort.

After a few hours of sitting on the cold tree stump, Morrigan sighed.

“Never would I have dreamed to freeze my innards off for some Circle Mage!”

Alistair stirred to riposte, but Akasha hastily put in:

“I wish I had more knowledge in the art of healing! The ashes were the only thing I could think of that would surely help Wynne to pull it through.”

“I’m only happy that we cleared out the dragons the first time!” interjected Alistair.

Morrigan chuckled.

“At this rate of usage, I’m rather relieved that we are the only ones to know the ashes location!”

Akasha pulled her woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders and asked the witch:

“Did she tell you why she collapsed? She seemed so frail when we left… All she said to me was that I wouldn’t understand, not being a mage!”

Morrigan shook her head.

“No, she did not. But we are not exactly on the best speaking terms…”

Akasha shrugged.

“Oh well, one cannot satisfy everyone.”

She was starting to feel indefinite anxiety, and turned her head sideways to try to get more accurate reading.

But Sten’s cry “Duck!” caught her almost by surprise.

They came out of the fog, grim and resolute, eyes glaring with overwhelming hatred. They surrounded the small group and drowned them in their sheer numbers…

The dragon-cult fanatics dragged their prisoners, kicking and shoving them with utmost satisfaction written all over their leering faces.

They seemed to be sure of the direction and soon steered their captives into an inconspicuous opening among porous rocks overgrown with sparse weeds.

A series of natural caves led into the heart of the mountain, a cold, dripping, pitch black place with scarce blotches of phosphorescent moss, slippery due to omnipresent wet clay.

Then they passed, struggling wildly but in vain, into a vast, dimly illuminated space. The light seemed to seep through crevices in the rocky vault high above the cave floor. A few human figures loomed ghost-like in the murky darkness.

When the group approached, one of the figures came closer to take a look at the prisoners.

The cultists brusquely threw them to the ground and dealt a few blows for good measure, knocking the breath out of their lungs.

Gasping, Alistair tried to rise to one elbow. He saw that their captors now stood around them, grinning and patting one another on the shoulders.

The man who came from the deeper cave bent forward, examining the templar. Then he as carefully inspected the other companions, pausing on Sten for a long time.

At last he drawled:

“So, these are the killers of our beautiful Andraste, of our reverend father and of good Kolgrim!”

He raised his hands and head to the ceiling and exclaimed in an unfeigned ecstasy:

“Glory to the merciful Andraste who in her immeasurable wisdom brought her murderers back to us!”

He leaned again to the prisoners and growled:

“I prayed Andraste to cloud your mind and bring you back for a fair punishment, and she did! A truly happy day after all the misery and death and blasphemy you brought to Haven!”

With a pompous flourish he turned to his fellows and proclaimed:

“Though slain by these vile intruders, our radiant Andraste has overcome death itself and so will return again to her faithful. Her holy blood granted us power to defeat these blasphemers and subjected them to our wrath!”

A loud cheer met his tirade, wild yells echoing through the halls of perpetual darkness.

At the sign of their new leader, the cultists wrenched their prey from the ground and borne them away, slung roughly from side to side, beaten and abused to the fanatics’ utmost delight.

The next cavern met them with suffocating wet warmth of underground geysers, and a choking stench of dragon droppings.

Akasha couldn’t help coughing, her eyes watering and throat ticklish.

“To be drowned in dragon shit – what a sad end!” sighed Alistair through his beaten to pulp lips.

Morrigan stirred and hissed at him:

“Shush, don’t get them ideas!”

One of the cultists grabbed her violently by the hair and twisted her head to face him.

“I would gladly do it to you ten times over! In fact, my hands itch to tear you limb by limb, piece by piece, but we have better plans for you!”

“They don’t deserve it!” interjected another cultist punching Akasha in the face and adding another blow to the gut.

“Oh I get it, you never had a chance to feel strong,” hemmed Akasha, coughing and spitting blood.

“Shit! Just your luck, Ozmo, it’s a woman!” someone sneered and patted her tormentor mockingly.

Ozmo glared at Akasha and shoved her ahead.

“Not for very much longer!” he grunted malevolently.

But there was another commotion, and an old man approached the group.

He cast a cold glance at the captives, and his thin lips curled into a derisive smile.

“Excellent. They’ll feed the very children whose mother they’ve slain! The highest justice and a delightful irony!”

He stepped aside to reveal a kind of stage made of roughly polished stones. Several stalagmites were protruding from the ground; a few large reddish eggs with criss-crossing purple veins lay beside them.

The old man motioned the soldiers to bring the prisoners to the stalagmites.

The companions were thrown at the protruding rocks with a loud thump and tied to them so tightly that their limbs turned blue.

Then the fanatics went to accommodate themselves in front of the stage like in a theater, gleefully anticipating the gruesome outcome.

Akasha whispered:

“The stalagmites are brittle…” but one of the cultists leaned forward and dealt her a slashing blow across the face. He let out an evil laugh.

“And where you’d go?”

Then he sat nearby, although keeping at a safe distance from the ripe eggs.

Akasha wracked her brain frantically in search of a way out.

The eggs started wobbling from the inside jabs.

The woman tried to control her breathing.

“Any suggestions?” she whispered to her companions.

There was a pause, and then she heard Sten’s low voice from beyond her field of vision:

“Many animals consider the first objects they see as their mothers, not as food…”

Morrigan moaned bitterly. She could not get to open her mouth for the fear of her teeth falling out, but she mumbled:

“Not dragons… They’re rarely… around… for the occasion…, so they just… cram their nests… with food…”

“Damn!” winced Alistair vainly trying to hit his dislocated shoulder against the stalagmite.

Akasha realized she could not avert her eyes from the huge wobbling egg before her. So, she closed her eyes. The problem was that they were wounded and bleeding. The smell of blood would trigger the dragonlings’ carnivorous instincts…

She opened her eyes. And spat on the egg. Her bloody saliva landed on it in thick splotches.

“Smear them with your blood!” she muttered, wriggling in her trammels to cover up the sound of her voice.

The companions had indeed enough blood to spare. They spat on the eggs, Sten vigorously shook his head for he was bleeding freely from a large gash above one eye.

They heard the cultists’ indignant uproar but, luckily, their captors interpreted the scene erroneously.

“Blasphemous to the end! It won’t save you, murderers!” yelled the old man.

The following shower of mockeries and insults gave the companions time for a quick talk.

Akasha whispered:

“Try to remember something or someone that you loved most. And for our sake, don’t be afraid of them. Think of them as just babies. We must glow with love like suns. That’s our only chance!”

Seeing her comrades in her mind’s eye, she realized that their chances of success were virtually non-existent, for none of them was a particularly heartful person. In a detached way, she admitted to herself that she was a rather cold person – which had never actually bothered her… until now. Until lives of her people and herself came to depend on it. She frantically tried to grapple at an old Chasind prayer trying to remember a statue, seen long ago in the Wilds, carved, many-handed, shining in the morning sun…

From far above, she heard a loud caw. At the same moment the egg in front of her cracked. But simultaneously, the memory of a raven, _the_ raven, flooded Akasha’s heart with golden warmth, and she gladly let the feeling out – freely, without restraint and without trying to control it. The image conjured so much love, affection and gratitude from somewhere inside her that she cried, astounded at the unexpected might of her emotion.

If a mage were around, he would certainly observe in utter amazement a shining blue and gold dome enveloping the stage with prisoners and hatching dragonlings; shimmering and pulsing, swaying and palpitating like a living being…

At the same time, the other companions felt elation and a wonderful feeling of grace pouring through them into the surrounding space. They smiled calmly at the ugly reptilian heads nuzzling them.

The unanticipated display of dragon affection caught the excited cultists off guard and out of their depth.

Several people jumped to their feet, frantically waving their hands and loudly voicing their outrage, others turned their heads in all directions trying to catch sight of the old dragon keeper for guidance, or explanation, or reassurance.

In the overall tumult, they failed to notice the moment when the dragonlings turned to them as a food source. The first time everyone paid attention to the reptiles was when a man screamed, his arm bitten off by one of the newborn monsters.

And then the true hell broke loose. Disoriented, people started screaming, running, tripping on their fellows, falling under their feet…

The pandemonium reached its peak when the reptilian babies tried out their brand new wings and started happily play with running people by tearing off their heads on the fly and lifting their ‘toys’ into the air by their rib cages and spines.

The prisoners did not dare to watch this carnage for the fear or breaking the spell of their sudden affection.

But when the dragonlings moved away joyously chasing the cultists into the tunnels, Alistair ventured in a low voice:

“Now, does anybody have any bright ideas as to how we might remove the ropes? Because I can’t feel my limbs…”

A smile illuminated Akasha’s serene face. She said in a mild voice:

“Sten, you are the strongest of us all. You could break the stalagmite you’re attached to.”

“Yes, mother of all dragons,” came the reply.

She heard the giant strain his torso, swaying from side to side, pushing his powerful pectorals against the ropes that dug deeply into his flesh.

Alistair started imitating him, groaning and nearly losing his conscience at the blinding pain in the dislocated shoulder.

They all tried to loosen their ropes, but none had as much success as the qunari.

A few minutes later they all heard the soft sediment stone of Sten’s pole recede, give way, and finally crumble.

The giant sighed in relief, but his poor arms and legs refused to serve him, devoid of bloodstream for too long, and he crashed to the floor with a muffled curse.

They had to wait a few more minutes until Sten regained faculty of his limbs, and, in a few more minutes that seemed like eternity, they were all free at last.

“Let’s get out of here,” grunted Alistair, “before any of the puppies go seek their mommy.”

Nobody objected.

Fortunately, Wynne recovered on her own by the time the lucky company returned to the camp.

*

In the evening, when the men went to chop firewood, and most of the women went gathering brushwood, Shale and Alistair left for the usual watch duty high on top of the hill leaving only Morrigan and Akasha by the campfire, preparing supper.

The women’s faces still bore the purple and yellow marks of abuse, but gladly the swelling had gone and they regained their proper features. The witch was not in the best of moods due to various pains in her body and the miserable state of her skin. She was unused to such severe beating and it clearly gave her second thoughts.

“I still can’t **_believe_** we actually agreed to return to that madhouse!” she fumed, venting off her frustration on the carcass of a hare, dismembering it with a misplaced fury.

Then she saw how Akasha carved roots and snapped.

"Akasha, I can't watch this! Let me do the cooking, and go butcher something else."

Akasha sighed.

"Sorry. Never spent much time at the kitchens."

Morrigan took the maimed roots from her.

"Go make yourself useful elsewhere".

Akasha observed the witch carefully and said quietly:

“Everyone makes mistakes. But we had to try. I would do it for any of our company. You, Morrigan, included.”

The witch frowned, shook her head and snorted so much like her mother.

“Then you’re a fool!”

Akasha shrugged.

"I guess I am. I'll go fetch some water."

On her way to the river she ran into the Antivan. He was dragging a trunk of a dead tree towards the camp. Seeing her, the elven assassin smiled at her cheerfully.

But when she made to go her way, he hailed her.

"Tell me something, Akasha..."

"Yes?"

"Why did you spare my life? It would be a sensible thing to kill me, I know I would kill such an assassin."

She sighed. For her, this issue was so far away in time that it was barely relevant anymore. So much happened after that… Akasha looked around to assess the moment.

"Well, I guess it's a valid enough question... To which I can't give you an answer at this time. Sorry."

The Antivan brushed aside a strand of hair that pushed into his face. Momentarily he looked disappointed. Then he shrugged and chuckled.

"I can't have everything, yes? Oh well… Remind me to give you a balm for your bruises – I have an excellent Antivan recipe."

The woman chuckled.

“Thank you for reminding me how I look.”

He nodded to her with a smile and resumed his task.

Akasha followed him with a thoughtful gaze and proceeded along the trail leading to the river.

Near it, she found a small brook with fresh clear water, hidden in tall sedge swaying in gusts of air from the dale.

As she was filling the skins little by little, she was thinking of the Antivan's question.

How could she ever explain to him that there was no single real reason? There were layers upon layers of various reasons, each as valid as the next one, none by itself being valid enough...

As usual, Akasha concluded that the right settings would present themselves and left it at that.

Morrigan observed Zevran splitting logs for a while and then quietly approached him:

“I saw how you looked at her… you should be more careful…”

Zevran paused, keeping his eyes on the logs, sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve, and then asked casually:

“Meaning?”

Morrigan shook her head. She was not used to explaining things to others. She sighed.

“Akasha fancies that half-wit, and now you are falling for her as well. This can bring nothing but trouble.”

And she retreated as quickly as she could to the cauldron bubbling on the fire.

Zevran watched her leave, then shrugged and shook his head. Raising the hatchet over the log, he paused in mid-air.

“Am I?” he mumbled as he hacked the piece of wood in half.

At first he brushed off the idea, but then wondered how little time passed since the sight of her dying would make him feel content.

For the first time he became aware that each time that he looked at the Grey Warden he was searching for that particular stare she gave him when he sat locked in that cage; the stare that saw right into his soul.

He swallowed. Better not to linger on this now.

When Akasha returned from the river, she found most of her companions already by the campfire, busy with their chores.

She cleared her throat.

"All right people, listen here, tomorrow we return to the structure, we shall see if there is a way to open that big door. The Dalish aren’t helpful in this department, so I will take Sten, Wynne and Leliana, hope your knowledge will aid us. Morrigan, please take Shale and Oghren and try to find a cave in these woods near the pass... I doubt caves here are dry, but any one will do, we are not planning on storing those explosives forever. I hope that werewolves will not find our little surprise untimely. Alistair will be catching up on lost sleep, and Zevran will keep him company here in the camp."

Oghren shook his head.

"To leave a snake and a mongoose together, that must be the sight for'e sore eyes!"

The Antivan stirred.

"What are you implying, my smelly friend? That I cannot stay civil in the company of a snoring man? What an idea!"

Somebody giggled, and the issue was closed.

Late at night, when only Akasha lay awake by the campfire, watching the flames do their perpetual dance, Zevran added a few logs to the fire and crawled his way to lie beside the woman.

"So, my fair Grey Warden, why don't you sleep?"

"Why don't you?"

He laughed quietly.

"My head is riddled with questions, to which I do not have answers, and you are not making it easier..."

Akasha stretched her lips into a rubbery smile.

"So I’m the culprit. Good to know. As you aptly often say, ask and thou shalt receive."

The Antivan chuckled.

"All right then. Why don't you sleep?"

Akasha smiled.

"I was enjoying a moment of quiet."

"Ouch! So cruel. I like it..."

"Next".

He laughed contentedly.

"All right. Why did you spare me?"

Akasha looked him in the eye to probe him.

"There is no single answer to this. Let’s say you reminded me of… my father, when he was younger. Last time I saw him he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Your pose, your jaw line, your eyes... Uncanny."

The Antivan chuckled.

"Ah, so that's why you avoid having sex with me, it would be like incest to you..."

Akasha sighed.

"Although my dad would never match your glibness".

Zevran shook his head.

"Still, a bad excuse for such a decision."

The woman arched her brow.

"And you never mix business with pleasure?"

The elf's eyes flashed.

"Well, as it turns out I can be convinced, if captured, put in a cage and forgotten there," it sounded almost like an accusation.

Akasha remained unperturbed.

"And where is the pleasure in that?" she asked evenly.

The Antivan fixed her with his best gaze.

"The pleasure came afterwards." He fell silent, listening to her, expecting her to say or do something.

Akasha contemplated his face for a moment, his skin softly glowing in the warm orange light of the campfire.

She liked the way he smelled. It was just a faint sweat odor, but it seemed to the woman very pleasant.

Oghren snored shamelessly nearby, wheezing and whistling and gurgling. Cicadas chirped quietly in the bushes, unperturbed by the dwarven concert. Some night birds made occasional noises of flapping wings, chirping and hooting; occasional frogs joined in. And the tiniest sound in the background was the river trickling its way amidst tall grass and boulders. Fog started creeping from it up the hill, unsuccessfully trying to get to the camp.

Zevran listened to the night sounds along with Akasha, and his lips slowly parted in a smile.

"It is very strange how you can give answers without saying anything... The mood becomes so thin and so light, and yet indefinitely profound…” he bit his lip, suddenly embarrassed. “I can’t believe I’m saying such things!"

Feeling ashamed and foolish, he turned his face away to look at the moon shining through trees. Then he asked, doing his best to return to his usual nonchalant manner:

"So. Will you tell me of your powers? Or is it a secret?"

Akasha sighed and smiled, amused.

“No secret. It’s ‘powers’ that everybody possesses. Even you.”

Zevran chuckled.

“Uh-huh. So, you avoid my question. Again. And all I wanted was a good tale!”

The woman shrugged.

"Oh, that's the dullest tale in the book. I had a teacher, a Chasind, who taught me to be attentive to the world, to listen to it like you were listening to me a moment back – with all your heart, completely open, contemplating the tiniest fluctuations and changes with a live interest. Gradually, the world opens up to you and you do not have to force it to bend to your will anymore, because the world is already fluid and compliant. You just know where to go, when to speak, and when to spare your enemies..."

"And when to make love?"

"That too."

"I guess there is more to the story about that teacher of yours? Was he your lover?"

Akasha’s expression briefly showed a trace of gentle melancholy, but then her features smoothed again. She looked into the fire pensively and answered in a quiet even voice:

"Osaado was... is a good man. Apart from that, there is nothing to tell."

Zevran observed her for a while, eyes squinted, pondering. Her reluctance to speak about her past was obvious, and the elf chose not to push it further.

Instead, he mused aloud:

"Huh, in Ferelden, people are remarkably tight about things that concern sex."

Akasha chuckled and nodded towards the tents.

"Ask Sten. He'll tell you what tight is."

The Antivan understood that the issue was closed for now, and yet he felt that the woman did not shut him out, the depth he sought was still there. He was free to resume the conversation...

Thus, in his usual cheerful manner, he chuckled and went on:

“Funny how Fereldans never speak about their love affairs and expect everything to be fine in that area. They like sex, but they wouldn’t recognize it even if it yelled in their ear and poked them in the eye… For example, we are lolling about here, shooting crap, but in fact we are already having sex…”

His devilish grin was so attractive that Akasha smiled and lowered her eyes. Her brow creased.

“I doubt chatting will ever be recognized as sex”, she laughed, but her eyes darted sideways.

The elf chuckled, content with her reaction. He pursued, leaning closer, speaking in a purring undertone:

“Well, while the subject of the conversation plays a certain part here, **_how_** we communicate is more important. No doubt that you can feel it yourself: we removed most of our defenses and barriers for this chat; we envelop each other with attention so that it practically creates a dense cocoon around us… I look into your eyes and see that your pupils are dilated; you swallow and lick your lips, and I watch your lovely lips very closely for the sight of them makes me sweetly ache inside… When you smile, so do your eyes, and I know that you are mesmerized by my face, and by my voice," he dared a small provocation "...I’m not even sure that you understand what I’m saying…”

Akasha laughed and turned her face away to look at the fire.

“True, sounds like we **_are_** having sex…”

Zevran waited for her to face him again and smiled.

“You are very aware of your own body, it feels full and ringing; also, you are very aware of the proximity of my body, you feel me ache and yearn for you…But desire is like fire, it has to be fed… We already feel the urge to start touching each other,” he spoke nearly touching her lips, “so we drink each other’s breath like ambrosia…”

He stroked her cheek lightly, then gently brushed her shoulder and side, leaving a tingling trail on her body. She felt her body blooming like a peony and opening up towards him. The man was very good at what he was doing.

Now their lips were barely a couple inches apart. Akasha inhaled his sweet breath, stroking his neck and his chest clad in a plain linen shirt, her eyes closed…

He reached for her mouth and started kissing her joyously, getting more and more avid.

She gripped him tightly, clinging to his body. This time, the pleasure was close to absolute, as there were no distracting sensations in his body, no aches or pains, only pure delight.

Zevran disengaged himself momentarily to look at the woman, and laughed, panting:

“Now if that’s not sex, I don’t know what else is.”

She laughed too, fixing him in the eye.

"So you say…"

They continued kissing, until a particularly loud grunt from Oghren interrupted them.

Akasha checked on the dwarf, but he just rolled to the other side and champed in his sleep.

"Don't mind him," whispered the Antivan in her ear and let his skillful fingers run down her neck, tightly bandaged breast and stomach.

The young woman shuddered at sweet shivers crawling on her skin, and turned to the elf. She looked into his eyes, gently removed a strand of his hair that obscured his face, and he caught her hand to hold it. He put her thumb into his mouth, gazing at her provocatively, sucked at it gently and tickled with his tongue. Akasha moaned softly, mesmerized by the sweet wickedness of his stare and the unusual sensations.

She felt he was ready to ravish her, and only wondered how he could resist the urge. He stroked her back, and, enraptured, she moaned again, pressing herself tighter against his vibrant body.

Gently and nimbly, he removed her shirt and her bandage, but the sight of her bruises each the size of an ogre’s palm stopped him short.

“Bastards!” he hissed furiously, assessing the damage to her body. Looking at the blue and black stigmas that covered her torso, he felt rising anger.

Akasha pressed her palms to his cheeks and forced him to look into her face.

She watched him frown for a moment and then whispered:

“Don’t worry.”

And started covering his face with kisses.

Zevran gingerly put his arms around her and kissed her neck, trying to stick to healthy patches of her skin; then he enveloped her tender rosy nipple with his mouth, and the young woman arched her back, gasping.

She tugged at his shirt to urge him up and avidly kissed him on the mouth. Then she slipped her hand into the collar of his shirt and bared his shoulder.

“Will you take this blasted shirt off at last?!” she uttered in a hoarse whisper.

Zevran exhaled in relief and hurriedly ripped off his clothing.

The daylight crept in under the trees, dissipating the night and its darkness.

The dying fire cackled quietly amidst ashes, its last coals sending off wisps of white smoke in the dawn breeze.

The hill, seen through the trees, began glowing as the first rays of sun touched its disheveled top.

Zevran stirred and looked at Akasha soundly sleeping beside him. He remembered the night he had spent with her, her beautiful if injured body giving herself to him without restraint, so freely and so generously…

He caressed her cheek and tucked her shawl, wrapping it carefully around her shoulders.

“You know, it would be so easy to kill you now,” he sighed as he watched her serene face with a strange twinkle in his eye. “But I wouldn’t be able to do it,” he added with a hint of surprise in his voice.

*

Her arms shook with the strain of too many shots that she had to make in order to clear the area of beasts.

Leliana trembled from head to toe, the bow in her hands shaking. She shouldn’t have ventured so far into the unknown territory alone.

Wynne, who could have helped her, was far on the other side of the ruin, trying to decipher ancient texts. Akasha and Sten went back to the clearing in search of appropriate material for torches.

A low growl behind her almost made Leliana jump.

She turned cautiously, holding her breath, to face a hirsute werewolf towering above her like a giant gargoyle. Saliva dribbled down his glistening teeth, a look of deadly menace in his yellow eyes.

“How should I kill you, little girl, for slaughtering my brothers and sisters?” he growled, taking a step towards her, a smell of wet dog invading Leliana’s nostrils. “Should I tear your limbs apart? Should I rip out your guts, or should I simply bite your head off?”

Leliana drew out her blade with a sharp inhale.

“Just try it!” she muttered through her clenched teeth and stepped backwards.

The werewolf uttered a raucous laugh.

“Oh yes I will!” and, in less than a glimpse of an eye, swiftly seized her by the shoulders with his long tough paws. Leliana vigorously tried to free herself from his grip, but it was as useless as trying to slip out of a bear trap. The werewolf only laughed triumphantly and exclaimed: “Ah, little girl, I know what I will do with you! You will learn what it means to be like me!”

And he bit her hand, almost gently, just enough to draw blood, then released her and promptly disappeared into the shadows of the ruin.

In just a few seconds, Leliana heard unhurried footsteps and saw Sten and Akasha descending the crumbing staircase. They were both wet from the nasty rain and brushing their clothes.

Akasha flicked her eyes in alarm towards Leliana.

“Are you all right?” she asked, perturbed.

Leliana opened her mouth to speak – though for once she had no idea what to say – but Akasha saw dead werewolves behind the bard, strewn all over the room, and gasped, “Dear Creator!”

She took a few steps inside the area to have a better look at the scene and said in a voice full of emotion:

“To think that you were all alone!... No wonder you are shaking, poor dear!”

Leliana sighed, somewhat relieved, and tugged at her sleeve, covering the bite marks.

The first stabs of pain caught Leliana when they were following a long corridor deep inside the underground complex.

In the first few moments she couldn’t understand the nature of the malaise, but the pain grew, and it dawned on her that it had to be the werewolf curse. She got frightened, and it drew Akasha’s attention.

“What’s wrong, Lel?” she asked softly, adjusting her pace to the bards’.

Lelana shook her head.

“I’m fine. A shadow scared me…”

Akasha squinted. Something was off. She let herself listen to Leliana’s body and felt malaise.

“Do you feel sick?” she asked, now sure that something was wrong.

Leliana averted her eyes. She could not bring herself to say the truth. Not if she could help it.

“I… it’s probably nothing… maybe the result of sleeping on cold ground and the slaughtering of those beasts combined…”

The Grey Warden sighed, not entirely convinced. But she chose not to argue and said, “You’d better ask Wynne for help.”

The old mage heard her and turned to Leliana.

The bard, feeling more and more awkward, hurried to reply:

“I’m fine. I’ll sleep it off and be fine.”

Wynne frowned.

“Then let’s return to the Dalish camp, the elves have quite a good collection of herbs…”

At this suggestion, Leliana got scared even more for the fear that the Dalish would surely recognize the signs of the curse.

“No-no! No need. I’ve been worse. I won’t delay you, I swear.”

And the companions agreed to move on.

However, in a few hours, Leliana’s condition grew so much worse that she could barely walk. She was livid and perspiring, almost a walking corpse.

Wynne caught up with Akasha and whispered:

“The poor girl gets worse. Perhaps we should take a pause and I’ll heal her…?”

Akasha frowned and shook her head.

“Wynne, I know that you mean well, but if I ever learned something, it’s just one thing – we are harming the most those we take pity on. Lel obviously hides something, and until she works up her courage to tell us what it is, we are powerless to provide her with real help.”

Wynne carefully observed the Grey Warden for a while and said quietly:

“It is very odd to hear such things coming from a young woman like yourself. Things that could only an old person know…”

Akasha shrugged and smiled at the mage.

“First, my life has been rather more active than yours; and second, I’m a Cousland, I was born responsible for my vassals and thus I’m used to making hard decisions.”

Wynne shook her wizened head.

“But if she faints, we risk never learning how to help her.”

Akasha just shrugged.

“Maybe we can’t.”

Leliana’s breath grew shallow, her vision blurred, the pain increased to the point where she could not restraint from moaning at each breath.

Akasha turned to her and stood on the spot, waiting and watching her companion to shuffle towards her.

Leliana met Akasha’s grave stare and understood she did not care anymore how her actions could be viewed.

She swallowed with difficulty and raised her injured arm.

“Werewolf bite,” she breathed and collapsed onto the floor.

Her companions rushed to her.

Wynne sighed.

“Oh dear. Now we **_must_** end this curse for the sake of our poor Leliana!”

Akasha’s face was grim.

“We leave her here. The beasts will not touch her, and we cannot help her by staying here and watching her suffering. Let’s go.”

Leliana opened her eyes. That was odd. No pain, no discomfort… She was lying on the cold floor in complete darkness. It was scary.

The bard patted around for her bag, found it and fumbled inside for a flint and a rug.

Soon her fingers closed on the flint, and in a few minutes, she was able to see her surroundings.

With huge relief, she understood that the curse was gone. It made her feel so happy that she hugged herself and half-cried, half-laughed. Emotions released, she felt even better and started to look for some kind of firewood.

A few dry roots, a rug and a bit of anti-mosquito oil she always carried around provided her with a passable torch.

Reflecting on her options, she decided to retrace her steps back to the surface, for it certainly would be madness to try to rejoin her friends in these catacombs.

To her utmost surprise, Leliana heard multiple human voices ahead and sounds of hurried footsteps.

When she reached the hall, she only caught sight of the last of men leaving the ruins.

Then she heard other, more measured footsteps and, with dawning joy, saw her companions emerging from the previously locked tunnel. Sten was carrying somebody in his arms.

When they came closer, Leliana saw that it was the corpse of Zatharian, the Dalish Keeper.

Akasha greeted her with a warm smile and hugged her cordially.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Leliana, feeling grateful and relieved.

*

The fire was crackling cozily, and the evening was warm and somewhat damp after the rain. Everybody was busy with their own chores.

Oghren surprisingly meticulously polished his axe; women went to the river to bring some water but by the sounds of them they decided to bathe there instead; Zevran apparently went with them, for their giggles sometimes changed into squeaks and not too serious scolding. Shale and Wynne stood far from the campsite and listened to the night, for it was their turn to stand guard; Sten went hunting and was due only next morning.

Akasha was sitting near the campfire, relaxing with a bottle of wine. She felt ecstasy in each of her lithe limbs for she felt clean and cozy in her new fresh clothes instead of the usual wearisome armor. The Dalish knew how to be grateful.

She stroked the stubble on her shaven head and sighed. Something in the air suggested it would be no quiet night. Apprehensive, she tried to trace her feelings back from that worrisome business with Leliana to the present moment. But as far as she could sense, the werewolf bite situation was closed. This had to be something else, unrelated…

And in a few moments, she perceived a distinct tangle of emotions coming closer to her in the otherwise transparent and clear surroundings.

Alistair approached her cautiously. Blushing like a peony, he blurted out:

“Could you answer a question?... Yes?... I’m just curious... maybe it’s inappropriate of me to ask, but what are your intentions towards him? Is it very serious? If you’ll tell me, that is...”

Akasha frowned momentarily but then smiled at him lightly.

“Him? I guess you mean Zevran?”

Alistair swallowed and continued his undoubtedly prepared speech:

“I was under the impression that the two of you were romantically involved. I would have said something sooner, but... I didn’t know how to put it without sounding... you know. Jealous.”

Akasha shrugged and motioned the young templar to sit down beside her.

“There is nothing wrong with being jealous, we all sometimes feel possessive. As to the elf, he’s fun,” she answered in a casual voice, watching the man carefully.

Alistair relaxed a bit, sighed in relief and moved on:

“Ah, that’s… good to hear… So now that I got that off my chest, let me ask something else: do you have any feelings towards **_me_**?”

Akasha smiled brightly and hugged him:

“Oh you, my dear…” she kissed him on the mouth. “You are my sweet tender flower. I love you very much…”

Alistair almost suffocated with desire that her kisses ignited in him, thoughts in his head tangled into a total mess, but nevertheless he struggled to maintain a sturdy exterior. Until the meaning of her words dawned on him. He gasped:

“You… oh… I’ll lose my head…”

She kissed him again, and the poor fellow moaned.

To distract him a bit, Akasha gave him some wine, which he drank barely registering its taste.

“You…” he tried to speak again “…just said what I think you said?”

The young woman smiled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you were deaf as well. Yes, stupid head, I happen to care for you a great deal. Here, this doesn’t sound as scary as that big “L” word, right?”

Alistair exhaled and blushed even more.

“I… care… for you too… Which is why it doesn’t seem right to lead him on. Or... well, to lead me on, to be honest. Either you’re with someone or you’re not. You know what I mean. Either you’re with him or you’re with me.”

Akasha frowned again. All this blubber sounded so childish, so selfish and narrow. It was both endearing and small.

“What I have with Zev has nothing to do with what I have with you. Apples and oranges.”

But the young man stubbornly shook his head.

“No. I’m sorry, but I... I just can’t do that. I’m sorry to put this on you, but I have to. If you can’t, then... then that is your decision. I can’t do it, otherwise. I won’t, I’m sorry.”

Akasha rolled her eyes.

“Stupid boy,” she muttered under her breath. “Don’t you get it? My heart is with you. Zev is dead inside. His life did not leave him a choice.”

Alistair looked away. She felt his heart sinking.

“But still you cling to **_him_**.” He swallowed with difficulty, for his throat grew very tight. “Then it is not love you have for me… Well, there’s... nothing more to discuss, is there? I… I need to… go somewhere... Excuse me.”

He stood up shakily and left for his tent, where he hastily hid.

Akasha sighed and closed her eyes.

She could still feel the warmth of fire on her face but it did not make her happy anymore.

In a few moments she sensed someone standing near the rocks that shielded them from the river.

She opened her eyes to stare into the fire and asked quietly:

“How much have you heard?”

Zevran moved soundlessly towards the campfire.

“Almost all of it. It was very strange to hear from you that you think I’m dead inside.”

She shrugged.

“And you aren’t?”

He sat near to her and took a swig from her bottle.

“You know me like nobody else. You tell me.”

Akasha looked at him and made a long inhale as if sniffing at him. Watched his eyes, then turned away and listened to him. Then she spoke.

“You hide. You shield very efficiently a tiny little spark in the void of your chest. Lately, this spark has been growing. You must feel fuller, more vibrant, more complete. You joined us because I can reach that spark and it makes you feel good.”

Zervan turned his head nervously to observe Oghren, who apparently was oblivious to his surroundings, busy to make his axe shine.

The Antivan sighed and shifted uneasily.

“You can be scary sometimes.”

“You wanted my opinion. Still, a spark is not a fire, it cannot warm me up. That’s why I said to Alistair what I said.”

Zevran caressed her shoulders and carefully observed her. He found out that reading her became easier for him too, since she was as intensely truthful with him as he was with her.

“You’re regretting that you did not choose him instead of me?”

Akasha sighed.

“Yes, I am. But it would be the same the other way around.”

“Does this knowledge make you feel any better?”

“No. I just feel being robbed of half of me.”

Zevran kissed her on the neck, his skillful hand brushed her side, and the woman instantly felt flicks of desire irradiating to her hips.

“Mmmm, Ser Magical Fingers, don’t distract me, let me think.”

The Antivan sighed.

“What’s there to think? All of your thoughts are already in that guy’s tent.”

Akasha laughed and stood up.

“Don’t follow me.”

She sniffed and listened again to something in the ether, enveloping the surroundings with her attention, registering Shale’s, the women’s, and the men’s positions and moods; focused on the glowering body in the tent… And headed there on her light springy legs.

Alistair laid there, his face covered with his hands. The air inside the tent was thick with distress.

Akasha slithered her way in and gently settled beside him.

Imperceptibly, she wrapped her hands around him and lay there quietly, listening to his soft sobs.

Thus passed an hour. Alistair could not summon enough will to drive her out of his tent for her presence was so soothing and comforting that he just could not bring himself to do it.

At last he took his hands from his face, turned to lie on his back and whispered in a feeble voice:

“Please… go… away…”

Akasha smiled gently, and started kissing him lightly on the face.

“I cannot let my friend suffer in silence without trying to help him.”

Alistair shut his eyes tightly. Half of him wanted her kisses so badly it hurt, the other told him to get away from her.

At last, he moaned:

“You are not helping me. You are hurting me.”

Akasha sighed. Her palms felt warm and firm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“So we need an explosion, not soothing. Too bad. It will hurt me as much as it hurts you.”

The young man could not understand a word from what she said. His head was totally dysfunctional, as it tried to correlate all the contradictory feelings he was experiencing.

“I don’t understand what you are saying…”

“I’m just deciding on how to bring you out of this self-pitying state.”

In an instant, the man stirred:

“You call it self-pity?!”

She did not pursue the subject but started caressing and kissing him more actively, getting excited as she went on, feeling his body respond.

He felt torn apart by his body, heart and mind. He wanted her badly, but on the other side she was not doing this to him out of love (or so he thought), she was just being predatory…

Finally, he sat up with a start and panted:

“Get out! Please get out!”

Akasha sighed and evaluated him at a glance.

“So, you are kicking me out because you want me? Logical. Oh well, so be it…”

She rose and, instead of leaving the tent, pressed her strong fingers to a spot on his neck.

“What are…?” he uttered and fainted.

She sighed and muttered under her breath:

“Things you make me do…”

Hurriedly, she tied him up and slapped him to wake him up.

“What are you doing?!!” was his first reaction.

Akasha slapped him hard again across his face and grabbed him by the throat.

“Now you will have to fight for each breath,” she said as she kissed him on the mouth.

At first he was slow on the taking as he tried to grasp what was going on…

Then there was panic and furious struggling…

All the strength of his emotions went into this resistance. And only on the brink of fainting, when his body really started fighting for each breath and overrode the feeble commands of the mind, did he start to pay attention to what exactly he was feeling.

And he felt a huge rush of excitement, his body felt like a powerful and incredibly sophisticated instrument strained to the extreme. Each touch of the woman felt like she was playing a heavenly electric symphony on his nerve strings. At times she let him gulp some air, never stopping to kiss him, lick him, caress him and torment him in other ways.

No mind of his remained, only sensations and the present moment. He saw her looming over him and felt moist warmth enveloping his throbbing member; he groaned, his body arched towards the warmth and moisture, he could no longer identify his sensations, he just gave in to them, let them sweep him away in their violent torrent.

When everything ended, Akasha let out a long exhale, released Alistair’s throat and dismounted him. They were both panting and covered in sweat. He was coughing.

She undid the ties and lay down beside him, giving him time to come to his senses.

When he returned from his unusual trip, he did not ask her anything, he just took her hand and lay beside her, watching the woman in silence and basking in the afterglow of his sensations, in the perception of fullness of the body. His head was clear and delightfully devoid of thoughts. Surprisingly, his feelings for her became fuller, broader and deeper, much deeper. It was as if she took off some mask of his, revealing his true self.

In the morning, when she left him, he did not object, just thoughtfully watched her gather her clothes and leave.

Zevran caught up with her by the river. When she came out of the water, he offered her a mug full of fresh tea.

“So... You broke him.”

Akasha took the mug, sighed and nodded.

“Half of me will hate myself for that. He had so beautiful feelings, so innocent and fresh. I took it away.”

Zevran sighed.

“However fresh, none of them would last forever. Last night he got rid of emotions and saw what true feelings are made of. Somehow I envy him.”

They saw Alistair approaching the river. He caught sight of them too and hesitated at first. Then he drew near and stood there waiting for Akasha to pay attention to him.

She came closer and smiled warmly at him.

He smiled shyly in return. He wasn’t sure how to react to his new experience; however, he was willing not to dismiss it right away.

“I… I guess I understand now about apples and oranges…” he said quietly, watching her in disbelief. His voice was raspy and deep; but it was not the strangling that accounted for the voice depth, but rather a new dimension to the man.

Akasha kissed him affectionately on the lips and smiled.

“Now you can make your own informed opinion.”

And she left them both on the bank.

*

The last slaver was still breathing.

Akasha motioned to Sten.

“Go ask him how many of his fellows are up ahead and where is their leader.”

Sten nodded and, businesslike, grasped the slaver by the collar, the blade at the poor devil’s throat.

Hearing the question, the slaver let out a croaky laugh and spat in Sten’s face.

“Wrong answer,” said the qunari and hit the prisoner.

As Akasha watched the giant so coolly interrogating the man, she felt a heavy ball of warmth forming in her guts. Something in the way he tortured the man both horrified and excited her.

Finally, Sten was done with the prisoner, and the yells stopped.

“About four dozen of them, six rooms, their leader being in the last one,” reported Sten calmly, wiping his face.

Akasha nodded.

“All right, people, I’ll go take a peek at the layout, will not engage in battle. If spotted, I fall back. Meanwhile, you wait for me here, pick clean these dead gentlemen.”

Her companions did not argue and went scavenging for valuables. Morrigan, however, hesitated.

“Maybe I could go with you?” she asked hesitantly.

Akasha sensed the witch’s worry.

The Warden tried to be as gentle as she could.

“Is something wrong, Morri?” she asked softly, appraising the witch before her.

Morrigan shook her head stubbornly.

“Nonsense! I’m just trying to avoid a tedious task.”

Akasha sighed.

“All right, you may join me, but stay behind…” and added in a light tone “If you change your mind, you can always count on my ears.”

And both women proceeded down the hallway trying to ignore the musty reek of poverty and despair that permeated the elven slums.

In the next room, Akasha saw a dozing guard and crept behind him. It was so easy to off him now… But the Warden halted, stupefied.

Suddenly, she could not bring herself to kill this man.

She asked herself what she had brought herself into. All in all, since the death of her parents, she slaughtered much more people than darkspawn. The thought perturbed her even more as she stood rooted here, behind the back of a snoring soldier.

Dwarven government, elven diplomacy, human politics - all in the name of greater good, of stopping the Blight! Strewn with blood, blood everywhere. Dwarven, animal, elven, human… In her mind’s eye she saw battling tides of different races, piling up corpses of their enemies into sky-high heaps… That’s what the real taint was. Instantly, the young woman grew sick of all this.

She turned and left the room as quietly as she had entered.

Meeting Morrigan, Akasha said nothing, beckoning the witch to follow her.

Upon returning to the rest of the group, the Grey Warden told them quietly:

“Let’s return to arl Eamon’s estate.”

Oghren stirred.

“What? Are you trying to offend me?! You think we couldn’t take a mere forty flimsy slavers?!”

Sten said nothing but frowned.

Morrigan cocked her head and cast an evaluative glance at Akasha.

“What’s this, some kind of joke?!” pursued the dwarf, his face flaring up crimson.

Akasha proceeded to the exit. At the door, she turned and said:

“This is not Grey Warden business to judge these men, moreover sentence them to capital punishment. We will duly report this case to the authorities.”

Sten nodded and followed the Warden to the exit, Morrigan, amused, followed him.

Oghren stood on the spot for a moment before he left, grumbling and shaking his axe furiously:

“Never thought Orzammar crap would be contagious!”

*

Akasha felt drained and horrified. The image of the sleeping guard occasionally appeared in her mind’s eye, and she succeeded in dissipating it only with considerable effort.

The luxurious bath at the arl Eamon’s estate did not help.

The young woman jumped out of the basin, quickly dried herself with a clean white towel and donned her ‘civilized’ dress.

At the door, she bumped into a maid that invited her to dinner in the main hall.

“Tell the arl I will attend as soon as I can. Ask him to start without me.”

The maid bowed and left.

Akasha sighed and let her attention spread throughout the whole mansion.

One of the rooms to her right was particularly dense with distress.

Akasha entered it cautiously and saw an elven maid crying her eyes out in a corner.

The Warden neared her and gently put her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

The maid shuddered and raised her eyes. Seeing a lady before her, she sniffed one last time and hurriedly smeared her tears.

“I’m sorry, m’lady! Didn’t mean to disturb you!” she blubbered and stood up.

Akasha smiled at her kindly and asked:

“What’s troubling you, girl?”

The maid hesitated an instant and blurted out, breaking into sobs again:

“It’s my sister!... She disappeared… They took her into quarantine but… but… she’s gone!”

And the lass started to cry again, her eyes and nose red and runny.

Akasha stood before her grim and silent. Then she said quietly:

“I know how you feel. I’m sorry for your loss.”

At that, she turned and left the room, her mood even darker.

Passing Alistair’s room, she paused. The occupant was inside, pacing to and fro near the fireplace.

Akasha asked herself, “How much worse can it be?” and poke her head inside.

The young man stopped pacing and frowned.

“What do you want?”

The young woman sensed his tenseness like a tide, pushing her away.

Yet, she did not discern any impulse to leave.

“Why so hostile?”

The young man frowned.

“I’ve got lots on my mind.”

“Worrying about tomorrow?”

“No… yes… Never mind. What did you want?”

Akasha crossed her arms on her chest and leaned on the doorframe.

“I smell something festering here, and I cannot leave before the air clears.”

Alistair grew even tighter.

“Thanks for your concern, but I don’t need your help here.”

The woman did not budge.

“Liar. And coward. The way you deal with your problems, you should’ve stayed in the Chantry.”

The young templar flared.

“Maybe I should’ve! But it’s not your business anymore. Please leave!”

Akasha straightened up and exuded an air so menacing that Alistair started.

“If your dear Duncan hadn’t dragged me into this sorry mess, it indeed would not be my business. But as it stands now, I’m the one responsible for your arse since you refuse to grow up yourself!”

She paused to let her words thoroughly sink into her companion’s mind. Then she took on a milder tone:

“So what’s the deal, Alistair?”

The young man hesitated, his composure slightly wavering.

At last, he spoke:

“Look… How can I rely on you if you... raped me…” he mumbled, averting his eyes.

Akasha looked amused.

“I gave you something the majority of people come to experience only on their deathbed – the direct feeling of life, without your head messing in. The majority sees the nature of life only on the brink of death, thinking, “Ah, so **_that_** was my life! And now I have none left!” You had the chance to understand it earlier and make it right. And instead, you slipped into your routine Chantry-imposed labeling and squandered it.”

Involuntarily, Alistair lowered his head and felt his cheeks burn.

For a minute, he struggled with conflicting thoughts until Akasha interrupted him.

“You are not a boy anymore, Alistair. If you take on your duty as the leader of this wretched country, you have to learn to discern your own thoughts from outside influences. A king cannot allow himself to be anybody’s puppet. Just trust your instincts, and everything will be all right.”

The young man frowned.

“I… look… I don’t know what to do or what to feel… My head tells me one thing, my heart tells another, and it gets me confused…”

Akasha nodded knowingly.

“Me too. All the time. My instincts tell me to do one thing, my heart protests it frantically and urges me to do another.”

Alistair sighed, now quiet and somewhat resigned.

“And how do you deal with it?”

Akasha shrugged.

“It depends. When one’s heart decides it wants or doesn’t want something, one could try to make deals with it, plead, compromise, endure… but if it doesn’t get what it wants, it ends up very sick, or your life loses flavor and purpose…”

She fell silent, perturbed by her own words.

Alistair stood very quietly in front of the fireplace. His head was wonderfully empty and clear, his chest moving rhythmically to his deep breath.

A long time passed until he broke silence by clearing his throat.

“I…” he started, “…I am only certain in one thing – meeting you is the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. And that I want you to be beside me. Always.”

*

Akasha momentarily closed her eyes. Yet another vanity fair of greed and power struggle.

Everybody was looking at her, their petty hopes and fears tugging at her from all directions.

Finally, she spoke:

“I believe Alistair should marry queen Anora.”

“What?!” Alistair stood there, dumbstruck. When he recovered, he exclaimed indignantly, “B-but what about hearts you told me of yesterday?! I thought we reached an understanding!”

Akasha looked at him wearily and sighed.

“Sometimes it’s not about hearts,” she paused and then added, “I’ll still be beside you, as promised.”

The future king shook his head vigorously, as if trying to wake up.

“This is not happening, this is just a nightmare,” he mumbled to himself, eyes shut tightly.

Akasha lingered a bit, then made a deep inhale, and said with numb lips:

“And as a Grey Warden, I invoke the right of conscription to take Ser Loghain into the ranks of Grey Wardens.”

*

The road to Redcliffe took several days, and those days were full of gloom and foreboding. It felt like the end of the road, or even as the last days before the end of the world.

The companions talked little and often found themselves staring at trees and rocks around them, as if it was the last time they could see them. They also listened to the rustle of leaves and grass, trickling of streams and squeals of refugees’ carts. Sometimes it occurred to them that the time ceased to exist, and that these days could stretch forever, filled with sun, and wind, and rains, and smells of dry straw.

On one such morning, Akasha lay with Zevran in his tent.

She was watching lacey spots of sunlight on the fabric of the tent; the fabric shifted and swayed gently in the morning breeze, making the pattern of light and shadow dance in a unique, never repeating cadence.

The elf was watching the same light-and-shadow dance, slowly stroking Akasha’s half-inch hair.

Then he turned his head to behold the young woman but remained silent, content with the moment.

She turned her head to see him. For a long moment they just looked into each other’s eyes.

Unexpectedly, the woman said:

“I told Osaado to leave the castle because I started to feel that I lived in his world, where everything worked according to his understanding of things. I was but a pawn in his universe. Now my world is small, but it’s mine.”

Zevran carefully studied her face before slowly leaning to her. Even more slowly, he kissed her lips and said:

“I don’t care.”

After a long pause that he used to caress Akasha’s face and body, he added:

“I’m just happy there is a place for me in your world.”

She smiled at him and stroked his bare chest.

“Me too.”

The Antivan looked her in the eyes.

“You know that you will not be able to hold this status quo for much longer. Even though Alistair is currently pissed off at you, I just know that he is dying inside each time when he suspects that you are with me. And I’d preferred you stopped jerking him – and me – around.”

Akasha sighed and leaned to kiss the elf. The kiss stretched into a symphony of blooming flowers, a beautiful song of ice and fire. The two clung to one another, drinking each other, savoring every moment, every touch, every breath.

After a while, the young woman looked her lover in the face and said quietly:

“Don’t worry, the battle with the archdemon is near, and it will break the stalemate one way or another.”

Zevran sighed and shut his eyes for a moment.

“Sounds gruesome.”

Akasha put her head in the cradle of his arm and mused aloud:

“It would be best if **_I_** disappeared, you’d both have the consolation of neither being a lucky bastard or a sore loser.”

The elf stirred:

“What are you saying?!”

“Just an idle reflection. Come, hug me, I want this morning to last a bit longer.”

The Antivan embraced her but his face still expressed anguish.

“Two sore losers instead of just one. I don’t like this math.”

Akasha stroked his cheek and looked into his eyes.

“Would you prefer it be just you? Or Alistair? How would you choose? What your selection criteria would be? Put your glum thoughts aside. This is a beautiful fair morning. Everybody is still sleeping. I’m here, now, with you.”

Zevran chuckled mirthlessly.

“Indeed. You are here with me now, what’s there to complain about?”

Akasha briefly kissed him on the lips.

“You of all people should know that there is no such thing as ‘forever’.”

The Antivan sighed.

“Yes, I know. It’s just hard to accept sometimes.”

Akasha nodded.

“I know what you mean.”

They fell silent again, caressing each other tenderly and unhurriedly. As if they had all eternity ahead of them.

After a while the elf asked her:

“Could you do to me what you did to Alistair?”

Akasha frowned, all playfulness gone.

“Strangle you?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head.

“This cannot be done on a whim. Only if the situation allows it; otherwise, something can go horribly wrong… Why do you ask?”

The Antivan averted his face in frustration and went silent.

Akasha observed him for a moment and smiled.

“Junkie. You want to experience something as deep and earth-shattering as then… However, each experience is unique and cannot be recreated; we just have to move on…”

*

The Redcliffe castle loomed on the horizon but the sun rolled in the sky much quicker than people could travel.

The dusk caught on them near a dense grove, full of smells of dry leaves and ripe berries.

“The last night before the castle!” exclaimed Oghren in a slightly nervous excitement.

He whispered something to almost all of the companions, leaving out only Akasha, Loghain and Wynne, then announced:

“We’re… heh… will be back. Shortly.”

And the group left, whispering and giggling.

Wynne and Akasha exchanged puzzled looks.

“I bet there is some mischief involved,” chucked Wynne and resumed her chores, shaking her head.

The night fell, switching on its soundtrack of chirping cicadas, hooting owls and mouse squeaks, the starry sky was rolling in its course like a vast rotating umbrella spread over the dark earth.

Akasha started to worry a little about their friends, when she heard some clanking and saw their companions return in extremely high spirits with what appeared to be a sack full of booze.

“Now let me guess, Oghren had the brilliant idea to rob a winery?” Akasha did not even stand up to see dozens of bottles being taken out of backpacks.

The dwarf just shrugged.

“ ‘t was **_abandoned_**. Would you leave such a treasure to **_darkspawn_**?!”

Akasha laughed.

“No, of course not!”

“Then what’re you waiting for? Uncork it!”

Akasha outstretched her hand to reach for a bottle, when a nice specimen met her hand half-way. She raised her eyes to see Zevran, who held it for her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Akasha squinted suspiciously, but could not hold a serious bearing and broke into a grin.

“No offence, but wine from your hands just doesn’t feel right…”

The Antivan acted scandalized.

“Do you think I would poison my favorite wine?!”

“Actually, I do.”

He sighed.

“Ah, my reputation strikes back again! Oh well, I’ll uncork this bottle myself then…”

The company sat around the fire to share their vivid impressions of the quest, as well as dinner and drink, and soon all became merry and giggly, even the moody Loghain softened a bit.

Zevran sat closer to Akasha. His eyes had a mad twinkle to them.

“Mi amora, listen to this poetry… Ahem… ‘Songs of hot breath upon my neck / songs of soft sighs by my head / songs of nails upon my back / songs of thee come to my bed.’”

As soon as the Antivan finished, both of them rolled with laughter, the woman wrinkling her nose.

“Yeeewww, that’s the vilest piece of… poetry I ever heard! It’s disgusting!”

Zevran laughed some more, wiping tears from his eyes, and shrugged:

“I know, I know. But it stuck to me, I cannot help it.”

“Now you want it to haunt **_me_** for ages?”

The elf grinned slyly and said:

“I just wanted to make you laugh. You looked sad.”

They kissed while Zevran started caressing the woman’s nipples and they reacted instantly and very visibly under the thin fabric of her shirt.

Akasha moaned and withdrew.

“I’m not ecstatic about public displays of affection,” she said in a low voice.

And indeed, they were drawing a few stares.

But Zevran just shrugged.

“Hey, this is our last free night. Do you want to sleep it through like a Chantry nun?”

With Alistair gone, the elf, it seemed, wanted the whole world to know that Akasha belonged to him. Or maybe he was just anxious about the outcome of the battle. Whatever the reason, Zevran needed her attention.

The Warden jutted her chin.

“Well, if you put it this way…”

The Antivan grinned.

“I shall make it fun, I promise. All right, did you ever try to water your companion by mouth? No? You really should try…” Zevran took a mouthful of wine and leaned to her. They kissed while she drank wine from his mouth.

The Antivan moaned.

“Mmmm, tastes sweet! Your turn.”

Akasha cast him a puzzled glance then took a swig from the bottle and kissed him.

Zevran smiled maliciously, wine dribbling onto his chin, throat and shirt.

“Again?”

Akasha smiled at him and took another mouthful of wine.

In this way, they had quite a lot of liquor.

“Now, mi amora,” continued Zevran, “would you suck my earlobe...?”

Akasha smiled. A little power play? She had nothing against humoring the man…

He sighed:

“Oh, yes, that does feel good… My neck and throat… yes, that’s it… Time for my nipples… yes, this shirt is excessive… yours too, by the way… let me help you out of it… good…”

By that time their companions were either deep in their own conversations, or too drunk to track their surroundings. Wynne went to sleep.

Zevran observed for a while Akasha’s performance, breathing heavily and stroking the woman’s head.

Then he nimbly unbuckled straps on Akasha’s boots, tugged them off her, then pulled off her pants, leaving her naked.

He caressed her lithe torso, lingering here and there, and whispered in awe:

“Your beauty is so perfect it’s an affront to heaven…”

The elf ducked to her hips, and Akasha gasped rather loudly before arching her back in ecstasy.

Zevran pleasured her until he saw she was nearing her climax and eased out of his pants, murmuring:

“Is it too hot here or it’s just me?”

*

The fiery sky was the color of blood, yells and growls of combatants blending into a chilling howling of a thousand-headed beast, an acrid wind carried a blizzard of smoke and ash, and the earth trembled in agony.

The archdemon was angrily batting his wings, and Akasha spun to catch a sight of her companions.

“This is it,” she uttered with a wicked grin, turned and charged at the beast.


End file.
